


Oreo

by Bioluminex



Series: Reed900 Collection [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gavin calls RK900 a snack, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 03:56:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18130634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bioluminex/pseuds/Bioluminex
Summary: "Gavin, it is my primary directive to protect human lives. There is a likelihood you could have perished in the event,” RK900 reasons. “You are irreplaceable.”Gavin bites his lip, glancing away with an exasperated sigh. “I wish you wouldn't say things like that.”(In which Gavin inadvertently calls RK900 a snack.)





	Oreo

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a little harmless fun to write about ;)

The glass door rattles as it slams.

 

“Listen, you Oreo-looking creep, we are done working together!” Gavin snarls over his shoulder, stalking away from RK900 for the pervading smell of coffee wafting from the break room, and abandoning the android in the middle of the bullpen outside Fowler's office.

 

Puzzled, RK900 returns to his desk with the intention to wait for his partner to come back and finish working on their case. Usually, he always does regardless of what he says, once he's consumed a gallon of the blackest, bitterest coffee like some college student juggling a kid and two part-time jobs to meet the cost of bills.

 

RK900 fumbles with the wire basket of pens beside his work terminal, arranging their grouping by colour, black along the outer edges, blue in the middle, and the forlorn red in the center. It was a gift from Gavin, presented on his desk one morning with the message, “Stop stealing my fuckin' pens, okay?”. It's the only object he's ever given to him, and RK900 can't help but cherish it.

 

The lone red pen was snitched from Lieutenant Anderson's desk, the dozen pens in their uniform colours thrown off by a thirteenth individual, bright among its darker compatriots. RK900 likes it and only uses it on special occasions, as the department prefers black or blue ink for handwritten paperwork.

 

Fifteen minutes pass and Gavin has failed to return, so RK900 leaves his desk to retrieve the detective manually. He's in the break room, a half-finished coffee at his elbow, resting his weight on his forearms as he watches the news highlights flick by on the header beneath the weather board. “Detective?”

 

“The hell do you want?”

 

RK900 gestures to their desks. “To continue working on the case. We've made excellent progression thus far.”

 

Gavin snorts rudely. “Didn't I say we're done working together?”

 

“Yes, but it's not the first time you've made such remarks. I believed once you had a chance to calm down, you would be agreeable with the idea of working alongside me again,” RK900 tilts his head to one side inquiringly. “Or have I made a mistake in my assumption?”

 

“Assumption,” Gavin repeats, pressing his palms flat to the table. “You can stand there and assume shit, thinking only about the goddamn case and never the consequence, cause fuck all if you're dragged away from your mission. Is that it?”

 

“Detective, I don't under-"

 

“Yeah, you fuckin' do. Don't lie to me!” he pushes away from the table to approach RK900 with stormy grey eyes. “All you care about are your little statistics and your numbers, right? You don't give a shit about how all I feel when you step in and take a whole damn clip of bullets, then shrug it off like you're invincible.”

 

RK900 keeps his mouth firmly shut, monitoring Gavin's rapidly fluctuating stress and vitals. He's livid. And has every right to be.

 

“You can't just walk in and think you can do that, got it? I was wearing a vest for a reason.”

 

“Gavin, it is my primary directive to protect human lives. There is a likelihood you could have perished in the event,” RK900 reasons. “You are irreplaceable.”

 

Gavin bites his lip, glancing away with an exasperated sigh. “I wish you wouldn't say things like that.”

 

“It's the truth.”

 

_Det. Reed – Stress Levels: 64% v_

 

“You're impossible,” the detective growls, dumping his coffee and shouldering by without any real heat in the shove. RK900, satisfied their argument is concluded, follows…

 

And nearly collides with Gavin when he wheels around abruptly, jabbing a finger against his Thirium pump regulator, hard enough to send a warning spike through his systems. “Don't pretend to be a hero out there,” he warns. “Use your fuckin' head. How do you think I've lived as long as I have?”

 

RK900 isn't sure how to answer that without insulting him, so he instead asks, “Gavin, why did you call me an Oreo earlier?”

 

The detective looks confused, visibly rewinding their conversation for the reference. “Cause of how you look, numbskull.” He wheels around on his heel.

 

“You're equating me to an edible confectionary?”

 

Gavin slams on the brakes, a dark red flush creeping up his neck.

 

_Det. Reed – bpm: 90 ^_

 

Hiding a smile, RK900 saunters past. “I'm glad to resolve our conflict, Detective, and to clarify matters. We should get back to work.”

 

 

 


End file.
